


Detective Ghost

by Pathfinder (Coffeeaftermidnight)



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Derogatory Language, Detectives, Lime, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Private Investigators, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 19:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeeaftermidnight/pseuds/Pathfinder
Summary: An abandoned car wash, a serial killer, a corpse. Just another day for a Ghost on the job. But its not just the heat that's making this detective sweat, and Jeff knows it.A quick but slightly steamy [and very gory] introduction to Ghost, a private investigator and bounty hunter who specializes in supernatural killers, and the obsession that haunts him.
Relationships: Jeffrey Woods | Jeff The Killer/Original Character(s), Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Detective Ghost

It wasn't leaves crunching under his feet. The dirty glass he walked on hadn't been disturbed in years, probably. Age peeled the paint off the old car wash's walls. Built in the 60s, abandoned in the 80s, left standing in the new millennium. That was a pattern in the world Ghost knew - life, neglect, isolation. Some things weren't even worth demolishing.

Hot air radiated from outside. Sweat inched down the back of his neck. In the sweltering southern heat, as the sun dragged itself down below the horizon, Ghost walked alone. There were two parts to this place: an old store, and the car wash itself. He was in the store. His target was in the car wash.

He could already hear the laughter.

His gloved hand gripped his pistol tighter.

There was no chance of walking silent. Old paint and rotten wood and debris coated the floor. But he didn't need to be quiet. Every step he took brought him closer to the sound he followed: crunching, squishing, wet death. And laughter so familiar it chilled his blood. Not for the first time, Ghost thought, I'm not getting out of this alive.

Behind the fallen counter was a hallway. In the hallway, a door. Through the door, old metal hung from the ceiling, parts and pieces scattered everywhere. Something wet and mildewed dissolved painfully under his booted feet. Ghost focused on the man in the middle of the room.

Jeff Woods brought down the old pipe on the corpse's chest again. Blood, bright and dark, splattered the floor, and his once pristine hoodie. He'd rolled his sleeves up, exposing pale skin to the fluid and tissues he flung out from the body. He laughed.

Ghost raised his pistol.

Jeff looked over his shoulder. Dark hair clung to the killer's forehead, sweat and blood soaking through it. The bloody smile spread into a grin. He dropped the pipe and turned around.

"Looks like you caught me red handed, detective," he said, spreading his bloody hands wide.

Ghost didn't laugh. 

"Hands over your head, Jeff," he said.

The other man arched his eyebrows. "You gonna make me?" He said, smile never fading.

"I'll bring you in dead or alive, Woods," Ghost said. "It doesn't matter to them, or me. Come quietly and we can get this over with."

Jeff let out a small laugh. Painfully slow, he lifted his arms over his head. Ghost watched, unmoving. 

The blood oozed down Jeff's right arm. A long, sluggish trail of red, dripping down the white skin. 

Despite the situation, Ghost couldn't look away. 

And Jeff noticed. His smile curled into something else, something predatory. He tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes meeting Ghost's. His tongue, shockingly red against the pale skin, slipped from his cracked lips. The drop of blood hit his tongue, spreading over the wet muscle. Never breaking eye contact, Jeff dragged his tongue up, cleaning up the mess made on his skin.

Ghost's exhale shuddered through his lips.

"You don't know what's in that," he said.

Jeff licked his lips and tossed his head, his long hair swaying.

"Yeah," he said. "But I know what's gonna be in you."

Flinching, Ghost blushed.

Jeff lunged.

The knife flashed in the dying light from outside. Ghost took the shot. The bullet hit. Jeff didn't stop. Blood bled through the white cloth on Jeff's shoulder. Stepping to the side, Ghost felt the blade rush through the air where his cheek had been an instant before. He swung the butt of the gun out. Something hit. Jeff swore.

Ghost stepped back. Jeff recovered, the grin flooding his face again. Ghost shot again. Missed, Jeff was too fast. Too fast to avoid, too fast to dodge.

His back slammed into the wall. Jeff pressed against him, chest to chest, blade to throat, the hand holding the gun pinned beside Ghost's head.

"Give up, detective?" Jeff asked.

"Fuck you," Ghost said.

Jeff laughed. He lowered the knife and pressed their lips together.

Ghost grunted, closing his eyes. He didn't clench his teeth, didn't try to keep Jeff from taking what he wanted. The blood from Jeff's victim burned Ghost's tongue as the killer kissed him deep. He didn't kiss back, but his lips throbbed, his body throbbed with the pounding of his pulse.

The blood was all over him.

When Jeff pulled away, Ghost gasped for air. Wasted air - Jeff's mouth met the smooth skin of Ghost's neck, and the smaller man cried out. Jeff's warm lips scorched, teeth sinking in. The hand not trapped in Jeff's tightening grip raised, pressing against the killer's chest. Or maybe holding onto him, it was hard to tell. The sweat dripping down his skin wasn't just from the summer heat anymore.

"You son of a bitch," Ghost hissed out. Jeff pulled away from his neck, the hot breath of his voice hitting Ghost's ear.

"And who are you to talk?" Jeff said. "Aren't you  _ my _ bitch right now?"

"Shut up," Ghost said.

"Come on. Everyone knows you're doing something with me. Maybe your employers don't want to think about it," Jeff's voice lowered, "but all of us know. All of us know you're a serial killer's bitch."

"Shut  _ up _ , Jeff."

"I mean, why else would you still be after me?" Jeff ground his taller body against his victim. Ghost swallowed hard. "You want me to fuck you, detective? You want me to break my code and use you like a sex toy?"

Ghost's face burned. "You're sick."

"You're the one who doesn't give up."

"This is my job, Woods."

"Oh no, detective." And Jeff smiled. "You definitely go above and beyond the call of duty. And I don't think it's just because you wanna be a hero anymore."

Jeff's knee pressed up, grinding at the spot between Ghost's legs. 

Ghost moaned. The gun tumbled from his hand.

Pain. Something cold buried in his gut. Ghost couldn't breathe. He looked down, between his body and Jeff's, at the knife buried within his stomach.

The blade twisted. Ghost screamed.

"Poor baby," Jeff taunted. The blade pulled out. Hot fluid gushed from the wound. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt.

"Getting you all worked up just to kill you, ain't that a shame?"

The blade sunk in again, into his chest. Tears flowed from Ghost's eyes. It dragged up, up, blood staining his favorite shirt, until Jeff snapped it free from the flesh.

Ghost sagged against his attacker, mind spinning.

"Can you believe it's happening again, detective?"

He tried to speak.

"You'll regret this," Ghost whispered.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "You need some new material, baby. You said that last time."

The pain was taking over, the blood was flowing fast, puddling between the two. Ghost forced himself to breathe through it.

"One of these days, Jeff…"

The blade traced a bloody line down Ghost's face. His breath reflected against the metal as it kissed his lips. Ghost closed his eyes.

"One of these days…"

Pain spread through, the blade sinking into the vein of his neck.

"Go to sleep, detective," Jeff whispered, and pulled the knife free. Blood sprayed from the vein, and as the world went dark, Ghost listened to Jeff laugh.

  
  


"Christ alive!"

Ghost groaned. The vaguely familiar voice continued but he could no longer tell exactly what was being said. That happened sometimes, when he revived. It was like waking up from a deep sleep without dreams, where you weren't rested, just groggy and sick.

"Can you hear me?"

He struggled. His eyes didn't want to open.

"God damn there's so much blood, what did he do to you?"

Ghost forced the words from his lips.

"Doctor...?"

"Have a nice nap, buddy? Shit. What happened with Wo- no, I can guess."

He squirmed, again trying to open his eyes. Ghost got them open a crack, enough to see the colors and lights around them. PISCES came for him.

"Doctor, I'm okay."

"You'll be better once we get you untied. Stay still, I'll cut you free."

Tied…? He looked up at the hands now working against his own. Tied, his hands over his head. Jeff tied him to something and waited for him to wake up. If PISCES hadn't come, who knew how long he'd be waiting.

"Thanks doc."

"Not another word, detective. We'll get you some water and take you back to the institute. You can explain what happened there."

Ghost hesitated. "I couldn't save the guy Jeff took. He was already dead when I got there."

The hands cutting him free paused.

"Ryan… no one expected you to do that but you."


End file.
